ESTE VIDEO DA SINGER VAI TE DAR DICAS DE AGULHAS PARA VC USAR NAS SUAS COSTURAS !!!!!!!!!!!!SIGA AS DICAS!!!!!!!!!!! AGORA SUAS COSTURAS VAO FICAR PERFEITAS!!!!!!!!!!!EU ADOREI...VEJAM

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BONECAS DE FUXICO...olha fiz algumas bonequinhas e tem o moldeEEEEEEE!!!!

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a lista de material e ;tecido de algodao,para rosto e tecidinho estampado pra o corpo e cordao para os braços e perna e na ponta fuxico com enchimento de plumante e fio de la para o cabelo.a medida esta abaixo..pode cortar que dar certo. esse molde da  Andreia Malheiros  tenho o molde da boneca grande resolvi fazer em miniatura...ficou lindinhaaaaaaa... Aqui e a mesma coisa ... Esse molde foram retirada do blog bonecos fuxicos   blog  Facilite sua arte como fazer tudo em artesanato aqui foi retirado da net.
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Video of the Synopsis – THE LADY OF THE NIGHT

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THE LADY OF THE NIGHT, by Brazilian author Sidney Gallero, was originally published in Portuguese on Amazon and is currently being translated into English. Some chapters will be made available on the blog as the English translation progresses. Sidney Gallero would love to hear from readers and fellow Fable users.  Your thoughts, impressions, and honest feedback about the story are greatly appreciated. Would you like to discover the darkness behind THE LADY OF THE NIGHT? Review Chapter - 1 Chapter - 2 Chapter - 3 Chapter - 4  
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The Lady of the Night – Chapter 1

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  Review of the ebook “All chapters will be published on the blog.” Chapter 1 The Encounter Paris, France, twenty-first century. The café was steeped in a bittersweet haze of burning incense, laced with the metallic tang of rusted iron. Elias Montgomery, an American pastor and writer of thirty, drew a long breath, striving to mask his unease. He had chosen this dim Parisian café, with its low ceiling and muted light, because an anonymous message on his phone had promised that here he would find the subject of his life—the fantastic yet real story no one else dared to record. The door opened. A gust of cold air swept through, snuffing out a candle on the counter. And then she entered. Emma Valcourt. Her blonde curls spilled over her shoulders with a liquid grace. Her face, seemingly fixed in the youth of twenty-three, betrayed none of the decades—or centuries—she carried. In the moist gleam of her eyes flickered both innocence and cruelty. “Pastor Montgomery?” she asked in h...
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